In the beginning, there was a silence. A deafening, absolute silence. No size or shape or form or time, no taste or touch or smell or color. It was all there was, just a big silence. A silence that had somehow wandered in to existence, didn't have a purpose in life. It wasn't even filling a gap—it just was. It couldn't understand why it was just sitting here. It floated, empty, in nothingness. It had no purpose. It had nothing to do. It wondered why it existed. Eons passed, or perhaps a mere second. And then it realized.
Music always comes from silence.
And so it spun, reached inside itself and tore itself apart. Music poured out, every size and shape and kind imaginable. Every color, every taste, touch, and smell, poured in to existence, as the music soared out into the vast emptiness, cheering and laughing and dancing and crying, dazzling and delicious, aromatic and gliding. The music leaped and twirled and swept and bounded, screaming out in pure delight at its simple existence. It danced with the silence until the silence was gone, and then it danced with itself. Sounds and colors and touches mingled, smells and tastes blended, as the music danced closer and closer. It began to weave itself, bending and stretching and melding together, becoming a web of music, forming into a single great Chord.
And as the music wove itself together, it became more and more tightly knit. Music spoke to music, different kinds mixing and mingling, each growing and adapting as it met other kinds. They grew more complex, developing from simple sounds to of discreet pitches, to major and minor intervals, to scales and arpeggios and harmonies. As scales mixed and mingled, one set split off to become chromatic. Another chose to be Phrygian, or pentatonic, or whole tones. Diatonic scales were the strongest, however, as they were the first to join into Counterpoint. But the music kept evolving, beyond Counterpoint, through vocals and instrumentation and constantly weaving more lines together, going from quartets to quintets, to sextets, to octets, orchestras, symphonies—
And out of the ordered chaos of music came something new. The highest form of music, evolved beyond imagination. It saw and felt and tasted and smelled and, most of all, heard music. It lived within music. It ate and slept and breathed it. It was music, yet it was beyond. It thought. It spoke, it created its own music from nowhere, and shaped the sounds to its desire. A god had been born.
And it was human.
The human race continued to develop. Able to utilize both perspectives, first creating fire from song, then flint. Composing a style of music with which to communicate, with which to order the world. Creating sustenance from sweat and song, and developing into civilizations, cultures, centered around their own styles of music. Some tribes tried to remain independent, living as they always had, while others joined those who shared their passion. Music and technology flourished side by side, each assisting and explaining the other as humankind grew to new heights. Entire nations literally skyrocketed, ripping themselves out of the ground to float in the air and allowing natural growth to flourish down below. The human body was perfected. The discovery of sound cancellation allowed for music to be contained, freeing any and all musicians to play whatever they desired. A government was established and left alone, working quietly and effectively to ensure the maximum possible happiness for the most amount of people.
And so the progression of Chord continues to this very day.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Welcome to the Black Parade
Thom re-materialized under a night sky, black except for faint colors floating around; stray vibrations. Below him, too, the world was dark—except that was because the air had become so clogged with music that even the colors had blended together, giving the air a thick brown quality, making it impossible to see the City of Rok below.
The School kept Classik neat and orderly, made sure music was contained and did its best to clean up after itself. In Rok, there was no equivalent to the School, no large central organization to care for the city or its citizens. The Order did all it ever did, ensured basic rights and provided necessities such as food and water, but Thom didn't see any evidence that the Order did any more than that. As he descended through the murky air down to the city, bolts of color flashed around him, stray chords yet to dissipate into the fabric of reality.
Rok was a city of cold, hard metal and glass, of straight lines and right angles and strong, simple colors—mostly red, blue, yellow, white, and purple. Everything had an electrical feel to it, a high-energy charge that made you want to jump around with anticipation, but aside from the music, there wasn't much in Rok. It was dominated by small individual bands—nearly everyone was in one—and most people didn't do much, aside from rehearse and perform. Everyone took some time to enjoy others' music, and the better bands could turn out massive crowds. For some performances, nearly the entire city would show up. One of those performances was scheduled for tonight, and Thom would be just in time.
Hertz Hall was the only performing hall large enough to hold the entire population of Rok; about 500,000. Like all performance halls, it was specially built to amplify and enhance the musical effect, and shielded to prevent external interference. Having a stray chord wander in to a performance can completely kill the music, especially if it's in completely the wrong key. Thom took a lift down to the fifth floor from the roof lot and found a seat. It wasn't a completely full house, but there were still several hundred thousand people in attendance.
And then the lights went down and the band began to play.
The first notes grew out of the piano—a sort of glow around it, overlapping colors as the notes changed before the last could fade away, but never mixing them. G, F#, B, E… D, G, C… B, E, A… D… "When I was a young boy, my father took me into the city, to see a marching band." The hall was dark and quiet except for the colors being played on the stage. As the lyrics continued, instruments began adding to the colorful mix of words and sounds. A dry, crunchy snare drum began to beat out a march, adding a yellowish white to the mix, and a guitar came in with dancing lines of glowing color … "He said, 'Son when you grow up, would you be the savior of the broken, the beaten and the damned?' He said 'Will you defeat them? Your demons, and all the non-believers, the plans that they have made? Because one day, I'll leave you a phantom to lead you in the summer to join the Black Parade." Smells began drifting up—the smell of summer, of ash, and of smoking electricity as the guitar took the motif and ran with it, sending bolts of color lancing up from the stage, which was now enveloped in a murky fog of music. The fog actually enhanced the music, emphasizing colors and sending out the smells. A heavy, deep drum that sent purple balls skittering around the stage in accompaniment to the guitar, and then the lyrics returned, supported by the drum and guitar. "'…Will you be the savior of the broken, the beaten and the damned?'".
The final chord flashed a golden-white-red electric mix of guitar and cymbal and then hung in the air, suspended, slowly fading, dying out and relaxing. But the music wasn't over yet. As if refusing to let it die, a drum came in, bursting out in beats before before the stage burst into color. A heavy drumbeat accompanying a guitar solo sent color flying, shooting up from the stage and swirling out into the hall, snapping and whizzing. It died down to allow for the lyrics to resurge, and as the drum beat out a quick tempo, they came back in, heavy and thick, emphasized with bursts of guitar in between, flashing green-yellow. The tempo was racing along now, as lyrics and colors and smells flew out of the stage, spiralling and dancing and leaping around the hall. It kept running, chasing a cadence that never stood still—and then it all died down, simplified to a steady snare drum and "Do or die—you'll never make me, because the world will never take my heart."
The pulsing rhythm was so strong, time began to distort, coming in beats rather than an apparent continuous stream, and the song contorted in on itself, becoming black and narrow with dim colors from the guitar's chords, gasping for breath. In a last-ditch effort, one guitar threw itself into a screaming scale on the left that towered out of the chaotic jumble of pulsating black ink as a brilliant double-helix of colors and white—but its effort was not in vain. As the scale died, its partner on the right took it up, and a second double-helix shot up—and the two met in mid air, exploding in a rainbow of white light and color, illuminating the hall, raining down sharp and deliciously sour brilliant chords in unison with stronger, challenging lyrics—"I'm just a man. I'm not a hero, just a boy who wanna sing his song. Just a man, I'm not a hero. I. Don't. Care! We'll carry on!"
Nothing could stop it now. The music was alive, and happy to be so. It roared through the hall, soaring through the audience who was on their feet, drinking it in, laughing with the pure pleasure as every sensory experience was overloaded beyond belief. The hall was glowing brilliantly—not just the music; but also the walls, the seats, the people, as the song shook reality, changing it, making everything a part of it. The building pulsed with the heart of the beat. No longer was the band playing the song, it was playing itself, for the rest of its short life. It was trapped in this building, and not allowed to live for long. The built-in automatic stabilizers of the hall began to kick in. No longer was it racing, it began to slow down. It lost its train of though, and began to repeat itself, persistently but confusedly. Gradually colors seeped out of the building, returning it to its natural black, and they faded out of existence until all that remained was a lone snare drum, doggedly marching on, lost and confused, beating out the same rhythm over and over again until the music finally died.
The School kept Classik neat and orderly, made sure music was contained and did its best to clean up after itself. In Rok, there was no equivalent to the School, no large central organization to care for the city or its citizens. The Order did all it ever did, ensured basic rights and provided necessities such as food and water, but Thom didn't see any evidence that the Order did any more than that. As he descended through the murky air down to the city, bolts of color flashed around him, stray chords yet to dissipate into the fabric of reality.
Rok was a city of cold, hard metal and glass, of straight lines and right angles and strong, simple colors—mostly red, blue, yellow, white, and purple. Everything had an electrical feel to it, a high-energy charge that made you want to jump around with anticipation, but aside from the music, there wasn't much in Rok. It was dominated by small individual bands—nearly everyone was in one—and most people didn't do much, aside from rehearse and perform. Everyone took some time to enjoy others' music, and the better bands could turn out massive crowds. For some performances, nearly the entire city would show up. One of those performances was scheduled for tonight, and Thom would be just in time.
Hertz Hall was the only performing hall large enough to hold the entire population of Rok; about 500,000. Like all performance halls, it was specially built to amplify and enhance the musical effect, and shielded to prevent external interference. Having a stray chord wander in to a performance can completely kill the music, especially if it's in completely the wrong key. Thom took a lift down to the fifth floor from the roof lot and found a seat. It wasn't a completely full house, but there were still several hundred thousand people in attendance.
And then the lights went down and the band began to play.
The first notes grew out of the piano—a sort of glow around it, overlapping colors as the notes changed before the last could fade away, but never mixing them. G, F#, B, E… D, G, C… B, E, A… D… "When I was a young boy, my father took me into the city, to see a marching band." The hall was dark and quiet except for the colors being played on the stage. As the lyrics continued, instruments began adding to the colorful mix of words and sounds. A dry, crunchy snare drum began to beat out a march, adding a yellowish white to the mix, and a guitar came in with dancing lines of glowing color … "He said, 'Son when you grow up, would you be the savior of the broken, the beaten and the damned?' He said 'Will you defeat them? Your demons, and all the non-believers, the plans that they have made? Because one day, I'll leave you a phantom to lead you in the summer to join the Black Parade." Smells began drifting up—the smell of summer, of ash, and of smoking electricity as the guitar took the motif and ran with it, sending bolts of color lancing up from the stage, which was now enveloped in a murky fog of music. The fog actually enhanced the music, emphasizing colors and sending out the smells. A heavy, deep drum that sent purple balls skittering around the stage in accompaniment to the guitar, and then the lyrics returned, supported by the drum and guitar. "'…Will you be the savior of the broken, the beaten and the damned?'".
The final chord flashed a golden-white-red electric mix of guitar and cymbal and then hung in the air, suspended, slowly fading, dying out and relaxing. But the music wasn't over yet. As if refusing to let it die, a drum came in, bursting out in beats before before the stage burst into color. A heavy drumbeat accompanying a guitar solo sent color flying, shooting up from the stage and swirling out into the hall, snapping and whizzing. It died down to allow for the lyrics to resurge, and as the drum beat out a quick tempo, they came back in, heavy and thick, emphasized with bursts of guitar in between, flashing green-yellow. The tempo was racing along now, as lyrics and colors and smells flew out of the stage, spiralling and dancing and leaping around the hall. It kept running, chasing a cadence that never stood still—and then it all died down, simplified to a steady snare drum and "Do or die—you'll never make me, because the world will never take my heart."
The pulsing rhythm was so strong, time began to distort, coming in beats rather than an apparent continuous stream, and the song contorted in on itself, becoming black and narrow with dim colors from the guitar's chords, gasping for breath. In a last-ditch effort, one guitar threw itself into a screaming scale on the left that towered out of the chaotic jumble of pulsating black ink as a brilliant double-helix of colors and white—but its effort was not in vain. As the scale died, its partner on the right took it up, and a second double-helix shot up—and the two met in mid air, exploding in a rainbow of white light and color, illuminating the hall, raining down sharp and deliciously sour brilliant chords in unison with stronger, challenging lyrics—"I'm just a man. I'm not a hero, just a boy who wanna sing his song. Just a man, I'm not a hero. I. Don't. Care! We'll carry on!"
Nothing could stop it now. The music was alive, and happy to be so. It roared through the hall, soaring through the audience who was on their feet, drinking it in, laughing with the pure pleasure as every sensory experience was overloaded beyond belief. The hall was glowing brilliantly—not just the music; but also the walls, the seats, the people, as the song shook reality, changing it, making everything a part of it. The building pulsed with the heart of the beat. No longer was the band playing the song, it was playing itself, for the rest of its short life. It was trapped in this building, and not allowed to live for long. The built-in automatic stabilizers of the hall began to kick in. No longer was it racing, it began to slow down. It lost its train of though, and began to repeat itself, persistently but confusedly. Gradually colors seeped out of the building, returning it to its natural black, and they faded out of existence until all that remained was a lone snare drum, doggedly marching on, lost and confused, beating out the same rhythm over and over again until the music finally died.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Unintended Consequences
Far above, a ship blinked out of reality. Ael paid it no heed. Ships were always flying in and out of Classik. They had their business, she had hers. Although their business was probably pleasure, and her business was probably out to kill her.
It's true what they said, that if you had a symphony of mages playing water into existence every day for a decade, the air would begin to smell red and taste wet, but what they didn't say is that it could probably also create a monster on the other side of the world that would wreak havoc everywhere it went. When making even a single drop of water, the vibrations ripple through the world, interfering here, messing up something here. And while for a single drop of water, the effect is (usually) imperceptible, near Classik - the largest, most musical city in the world - stray ricocheting vibrations could cause a great deal of trouble. Unless Ael got to them first. And after five hundred years of practice, she'd gotten pretty good at getting there first.
Ael was head of a special forces squad, and while she was the youngest (only 741 years old), she was an intelligent leader and one of the most skilled fighters. This special force, tasked with making sure stray vibrations didn't get out of hand, was technically overseen and directed by the Order. The Order was the largely ignored world government that… well, didn't really seem to do anything (aside from exist, of course, and organize the special forces). Nobody really knew who was in the Order or where they were, and since they didn't really do anything, each city was run by most powerful local organization. Since Ael was posted in Classik, the School told her where she was needed. Parts of the force also operated from within the School, patrolling the musical plane and helping everything return to harmony with as little chaos as possible, but every now and then some things got out of hand… and Ael's squad was called in to deal with the problem, using the old-fashioned way and magic to get the job done.
This was a particularly nasty job. She wasn't quite sure what it was - it was constantly changing, growing a third arm, losing eyes, collapsing onto fourteen legs - but it was definitely a) not natural, b) alive, and c) dangerous - all the criteria she needed. Currently it appeared to be rather interested in the corpse of some creature it was devouring and hadn't noticed her. Yet.
"I've found it," she whispered into the com. "Looks like this creature's been building up stray vibrations for years. Can't even tell what it was to begin with, it's become so mutated it can't even hold a shape for long. Check my position and let's do this, over." On her sensor, the red blips indicating the rest of her squad started moving towards her. The… thing… was no longer feasting. Instead it was sitting strangely, breathing slowly, its changing subdued. Perhaps it was preparing for a nap. Wouldn't that be convenient. Relaxing her mind, half-closing her eyes, Ael peeked into the ethereal plane.
It was there - clear and bright as day, not a faded mess of lines like other creatures, but a glowing, vibrant, sentient mind, aware and alert. And it was staring straight at her.
Ael's eyes flew open as it hurled itself at her, impossibly fast. Behind it, reality melted as it absorbed more energy to accelerate itself. Instinctively, she reached and threw her hands up - a shielding wave rippled out and crashed into the creature, sending colorful sparks flying as the vibrations jarred, and it fell to the ground. She drew her sword and lunged - and at the touch of her thumb, shing! the hilt extended into a spear, sparkling in the Sol and glowing with energy. The tip hit the thing - sort of a blob now - and electricity exploded outwards, lighting it up with a bright blue and leaving a stench of burnt rubber in the air. It jerked and shuddered, bending in on itself, slurping the spear, pulling Ael in like a fish on a hook. Struggling, she twanged a string in the air and a blast of color hit it where the eyes might be. It roared in frustration, and Ael pulled her spear free, spinning it around in a circle to hit it from the other side.
Her spear clanged off the thing, which was now lumbering on six legs under a heavy, solid shell. It lowered its head and charged, bellowing. Ael jumped, pulling a string to send herself up ten feet, and she landed behind the thing as it ran through the spot she had been and instead crashed into a tree. She spun around and leaped onto its back, and as it turned to try and find her, she used her spear to pole-vault over its head, stabbing the blade into the back of its neck and leaping off as the charged blade blasted it with electricity again.
She landed and rolled, coming up to face the beast. Her spear had missed severing its spinal cord, but the electricity had overloaded its nervous system, so that it was shaking on the ground, morphing into different shapes every second. While it lay on the ground roaring in pain, she concentrated on the strings that held it together. Reaching, she began a crude magical dissection to weaken it before it regained its composure - tearing at strings, messing up vibrations, anything to stop it. Colors flew out of it and it began to stink in ways impossible to describe, parts of it suddenly catching on fire or becoming freezing to touch. It screamed in agony, a magical vibration rippling out, and the noise ripped through Ael, stabbing at her, distracting her for just a moment.
And then it was back on all fours, standing over the spear, and a tail came and lashed out at her, striking her shoulder, knocking her to the ground. Ael heard a cracking noise. It charged, and she tried to roll away, but her shoulder screamed in protest, and then it was on top of her, biting at the shield she threw up in desperation. She struggled to mend her fractured shoulder as the strength of the shield weakened, but the pain lancing through her body wasn't helping.
"FAGE!" An angry streak of red fire crashed into the side of the monster and exploded into purple, sending it flying off of her. Striding through the forest came Kairn, and "Kzoop!" came Hines with bolts of blue lightning from the other side, sending into involuntary spasms. Her squad's most skilled mages, they were both practiced Orators, mages who used spoken word to do magic. Orators were particularly skilled at casting fast, powerful spells, making them invaluable in combat. The most difficult part to being an Orator was the required knowledge of the musical language, and both Kairn and Hines had been studying it for thousands of years.
The thing was still alive though. Crawling, oozing, twitching between forms, it still glowed vibrantly in the musical plane - very much alive. Given a minute, it could probably gather enough energy and mental concentration to slaughter them all. Fortunately, it wasn't given that minute. Kairn and Hines were chanting, and as they spoke their words became reality. A powerful shielding bubble encased the monster, trapping it, and they kept chanting, keeping it in place as the rest of the squad arrived. Together, they dissected it properly, carefully separating each string and weaving them into the fabric of reality.
Ael sealed off the pain from her shoulder, but remained wary of it. She retrieved her spear and surveyed the local damages, which were… extensive. Colors burned in the air, strings were deharmonized, some drained of vibration. Patches of reality appeared melted and were both hot and freezing to the touch, stinking of sulfur. An impressive mess for a single creature. Ael retrieved her spear and, retracting the haft into a normal sword hilt, sheathed it. She pulled out her com and called the School for a team of mages to clean up the mess, and an ambulance. Once the creature was gone, she addressed the squad.
"The School's sending a team down here to clean this up, so we don't have to worry, our job is done. I'm injured, I'll probably be hospitalized for about a week. Until I'm back, Kairn's your leader, as usual, if anything comes up. Thanks for saving my ass, again. You guys are awesome." As the sound of sirens drew nearer, she sat down and felt her shoulder, unblocking the pain. Ouch. At least a week. The hospital was probably the least exciting part of this job. Make that definitely.
It's true what they said, that if you had a symphony of mages playing water into existence every day for a decade, the air would begin to smell red and taste wet, but what they didn't say is that it could probably also create a monster on the other side of the world that would wreak havoc everywhere it went. When making even a single drop of water, the vibrations ripple through the world, interfering here, messing up something here. And while for a single drop of water, the effect is (usually) imperceptible, near Classik - the largest, most musical city in the world - stray ricocheting vibrations could cause a great deal of trouble. Unless Ael got to them first. And after five hundred years of practice, she'd gotten pretty good at getting there first.
Ael was head of a special forces squad, and while she was the youngest (only 741 years old), she was an intelligent leader and one of the most skilled fighters. This special force, tasked with making sure stray vibrations didn't get out of hand, was technically overseen and directed by the Order. The Order was the largely ignored world government that… well, didn't really seem to do anything (aside from exist, of course, and organize the special forces). Nobody really knew who was in the Order or where they were, and since they didn't really do anything, each city was run by most powerful local organization. Since Ael was posted in Classik, the School told her where she was needed. Parts of the force also operated from within the School, patrolling the musical plane and helping everything return to harmony with as little chaos as possible, but every now and then some things got out of hand… and Ael's squad was called in to deal with the problem, using the old-fashioned way and magic to get the job done.
This was a particularly nasty job. She wasn't quite sure what it was - it was constantly changing, growing a third arm, losing eyes, collapsing onto fourteen legs - but it was definitely a) not natural, b) alive, and c) dangerous - all the criteria she needed. Currently it appeared to be rather interested in the corpse of some creature it was devouring and hadn't noticed her. Yet.
"I've found it," she whispered into the com. "Looks like this creature's been building up stray vibrations for years. Can't even tell what it was to begin with, it's become so mutated it can't even hold a shape for long. Check my position and let's do this, over." On her sensor, the red blips indicating the rest of her squad started moving towards her. The… thing… was no longer feasting. Instead it was sitting strangely, breathing slowly, its changing subdued. Perhaps it was preparing for a nap. Wouldn't that be convenient. Relaxing her mind, half-closing her eyes, Ael peeked into the ethereal plane.
It was there - clear and bright as day, not a faded mess of lines like other creatures, but a glowing, vibrant, sentient mind, aware and alert. And it was staring straight at her.
Ael's eyes flew open as it hurled itself at her, impossibly fast. Behind it, reality melted as it absorbed more energy to accelerate itself. Instinctively, she reached and threw her hands up - a shielding wave rippled out and crashed into the creature, sending colorful sparks flying as the vibrations jarred, and it fell to the ground. She drew her sword and lunged - and at the touch of her thumb, shing! the hilt extended into a spear, sparkling in the Sol and glowing with energy. The tip hit the thing - sort of a blob now - and electricity exploded outwards, lighting it up with a bright blue and leaving a stench of burnt rubber in the air. It jerked and shuddered, bending in on itself, slurping the spear, pulling Ael in like a fish on a hook. Struggling, she twanged a string in the air and a blast of color hit it where the eyes might be. It roared in frustration, and Ael pulled her spear free, spinning it around in a circle to hit it from the other side.
Her spear clanged off the thing, which was now lumbering on six legs under a heavy, solid shell. It lowered its head and charged, bellowing. Ael jumped, pulling a string to send herself up ten feet, and she landed behind the thing as it ran through the spot she had been and instead crashed into a tree. She spun around and leaped onto its back, and as it turned to try and find her, she used her spear to pole-vault over its head, stabbing the blade into the back of its neck and leaping off as the charged blade blasted it with electricity again.
She landed and rolled, coming up to face the beast. Her spear had missed severing its spinal cord, but the electricity had overloaded its nervous system, so that it was shaking on the ground, morphing into different shapes every second. While it lay on the ground roaring in pain, she concentrated on the strings that held it together. Reaching, she began a crude magical dissection to weaken it before it regained its composure - tearing at strings, messing up vibrations, anything to stop it. Colors flew out of it and it began to stink in ways impossible to describe, parts of it suddenly catching on fire or becoming freezing to touch. It screamed in agony, a magical vibration rippling out, and the noise ripped through Ael, stabbing at her, distracting her for just a moment.
And then it was back on all fours, standing over the spear, and a tail came and lashed out at her, striking her shoulder, knocking her to the ground. Ael heard a cracking noise. It charged, and she tried to roll away, but her shoulder screamed in protest, and then it was on top of her, biting at the shield she threw up in desperation. She struggled to mend her fractured shoulder as the strength of the shield weakened, but the pain lancing through her body wasn't helping.
"FAGE!" An angry streak of red fire crashed into the side of the monster and exploded into purple, sending it flying off of her. Striding through the forest came Kairn, and "Kzoop!" came Hines with bolts of blue lightning from the other side, sending into involuntary spasms. Her squad's most skilled mages, they were both practiced Orators, mages who used spoken word to do magic. Orators were particularly skilled at casting fast, powerful spells, making them invaluable in combat. The most difficult part to being an Orator was the required knowledge of the musical language, and both Kairn and Hines had been studying it for thousands of years.
The thing was still alive though. Crawling, oozing, twitching between forms, it still glowed vibrantly in the musical plane - very much alive. Given a minute, it could probably gather enough energy and mental concentration to slaughter them all. Fortunately, it wasn't given that minute. Kairn and Hines were chanting, and as they spoke their words became reality. A powerful shielding bubble encased the monster, trapping it, and they kept chanting, keeping it in place as the rest of the squad arrived. Together, they dissected it properly, carefully separating each string and weaving them into the fabric of reality.
Ael sealed off the pain from her shoulder, but remained wary of it. She retrieved her spear and surveyed the local damages, which were… extensive. Colors burned in the air, strings were deharmonized, some drained of vibration. Patches of reality appeared melted and were both hot and freezing to the touch, stinking of sulfur. An impressive mess for a single creature. Ael retrieved her spear and, retracting the haft into a normal sword hilt, sheathed it. She pulled out her com and called the School for a team of mages to clean up the mess, and an ambulance. Once the creature was gone, she addressed the squad.
"The School's sending a team down here to clean this up, so we don't have to worry, our job is done. I'm injured, I'll probably be hospitalized for about a week. Until I'm back, Kairn's your leader, as usual, if anything comes up. Thanks for saving my ass, again. You guys are awesome." As the sound of sirens drew nearer, she sat down and felt her shoulder, unblocking the pain. Ouch. At least a week. The hospital was probably the least exciting part of this job. Make that definitely.
String Theory
"Close your eyes. Relax your body. Relax your mind. Count your breaths and clear your mind, just be."
1… 2… 3
"Let go of your thoughts. Don't stop them, simply let them go, relax, let them evaporate into nothing."
5… 6… 7…
"Hear the world around you. Visualize it if you must. A web of strings, constantly vibrating, the sound making up the world we know and live in."
9… 10.
Thom stepped out of his body and into the ethereal world. It stretched before him in all directions, glowing a deep purple, almost black. He was standing on what appeared to be nothing, and all around him strings stretched into all directions, of all different sizes and vibration and color, glowing slightly with the reflection of their sound.
"Very good," said his mentor, stepping forward. His ethereal body, like the rest of the strings, glowed, because it too was made of strings - unique double-helix strings which, when vibrated properly, somehow gave the properties of life. "And now find the string you want. Don't work to find it, just hear it in your mind and it'll be there." Thom stretched out an ethereal hand and felt for the right string. Among so many, it should be impossible to find, but there it was, right beneath his fingers. A tiny string, glowing slightly red with the pitch of A. And with the lightest of tugs, barely touching it, changing the vibration ever so slightly…
Plink. Thom's eyes snapped open as a drop of water hit the metal pan in front of him. A faint red glowing line in the air in front of him faded out of existence as the string returned to its natural vibration. "Excellent," said his mentor, standing up from the meditative position. "Practice that when you have the opportunity, but remember to be shielded when you do, just so if you make a mistake it's contained." He switched off the small shielding device and tossed it to Thom, who caught it easily and stowed it in his bag. "We'll meet again next week and work on water to fire transmutations. Be sure you can make enough water by then." Thom bowed, and once his mentor returned the ritual farewell Thom left the chambers and headed for the lift that would take him to open-air hangar on top of the Temple.
The School of Classik Temple was the heart of Classik, a luminescent city floating high above the forest of Ten'Lora. The School, and the city, was divided into five Districts - Ren'saunce, Barok, Classik, Roman't'k, and Modern. Each district had a slightly different feel, of course, due to the buildup of musical residue from the millenias. Playing a single note to make a single drop of water has an imperceptible effect on the world, but if you had a symphony of mages doing that all day every day for a decade, the air would begin to smell red and taste wet, as it became more and more difficult for the strings to return to their natural state. Since different styles of Classik sound different, the School keeps music in the appropriate location, which both enhances the musics and keeps the city in harmony. And a glorious harmony, too - glittering white towers stretched high into the sky, ships of all kinds danced among them, and the forest thrived below, stretching from horizon to horizon, growing taller than trees anywhere else in the world. A city of those interested in the advancement of humankind, the greatest developments came from here - from the decoding of the genetic string, allowing lifespans to be stretched indefinitely and bodies to be changed at will, to the understanding of the magical strings that define the world.
'Course, with all those stuffy old geezers worried about protecting the harmonies of their city they'd been living in for ten thousand years, there wasn't much room for variation - especially in the Ren'saunce and Barok districts where Counterpoint was still the preferred musical style. And besides, all these people practically spoke music - whereas Thom still liked a little language guiding his. And he knew just where to find that.
Without hardly a glance for the glittering beauty surrounding him, or the amazing view available from the roof of the Temple, Thom headed straight for his ship. Streamlined, a soft silvery-white, with top-of-the-line sonic engines, it hummed at his approach, and as he strapped in he punched in coordinates for Rok, a city on the other side of the world. It hooked in to the worldwide transportation network, and leaped fluidly into the air and away from the city. In a moment, the sonic engines came online, and Thom was travelling impossibly fast, the speed of reality - the speed of sound. He'd be in Rok in no time - literally.
1… 2… 3
"Let go of your thoughts. Don't stop them, simply let them go, relax, let them evaporate into nothing."
5… 6… 7…
"Hear the world around you. Visualize it if you must. A web of strings, constantly vibrating, the sound making up the world we know and live in."
9… 10.
Thom stepped out of his body and into the ethereal world. It stretched before him in all directions, glowing a deep purple, almost black. He was standing on what appeared to be nothing, and all around him strings stretched into all directions, of all different sizes and vibration and color, glowing slightly with the reflection of their sound.
"Very good," said his mentor, stepping forward. His ethereal body, like the rest of the strings, glowed, because it too was made of strings - unique double-helix strings which, when vibrated properly, somehow gave the properties of life. "And now find the string you want. Don't work to find it, just hear it in your mind and it'll be there." Thom stretched out an ethereal hand and felt for the right string. Among so many, it should be impossible to find, but there it was, right beneath his fingers. A tiny string, glowing slightly red with the pitch of A. And with the lightest of tugs, barely touching it, changing the vibration ever so slightly…
Plink. Thom's eyes snapped open as a drop of water hit the metal pan in front of him. A faint red glowing line in the air in front of him faded out of existence as the string returned to its natural vibration. "Excellent," said his mentor, standing up from the meditative position. "Practice that when you have the opportunity, but remember to be shielded when you do, just so if you make a mistake it's contained." He switched off the small shielding device and tossed it to Thom, who caught it easily and stowed it in his bag. "We'll meet again next week and work on water to fire transmutations. Be sure you can make enough water by then." Thom bowed, and once his mentor returned the ritual farewell Thom left the chambers and headed for the lift that would take him to open-air hangar on top of the Temple.
The School of Classik Temple was the heart of Classik, a luminescent city floating high above the forest of Ten'Lora. The School, and the city, was divided into five Districts - Ren'saunce, Barok, Classik, Roman't'k, and Modern. Each district had a slightly different feel, of course, due to the buildup of musical residue from the millenias. Playing a single note to make a single drop of water has an imperceptible effect on the world, but if you had a symphony of mages doing that all day every day for a decade, the air would begin to smell red and taste wet, as it became more and more difficult for the strings to return to their natural state. Since different styles of Classik sound different, the School keeps music in the appropriate location, which both enhances the musics and keeps the city in harmony. And a glorious harmony, too - glittering white towers stretched high into the sky, ships of all kinds danced among them, and the forest thrived below, stretching from horizon to horizon, growing taller than trees anywhere else in the world. A city of those interested in the advancement of humankind, the greatest developments came from here - from the decoding of the genetic string, allowing lifespans to be stretched indefinitely and bodies to be changed at will, to the understanding of the magical strings that define the world.
'Course, with all those stuffy old geezers worried about protecting the harmonies of their city they'd been living in for ten thousand years, there wasn't much room for variation - especially in the Ren'saunce and Barok districts where Counterpoint was still the preferred musical style. And besides, all these people practically spoke music - whereas Thom still liked a little language guiding his. And he knew just where to find that.
Without hardly a glance for the glittering beauty surrounding him, or the amazing view available from the roof of the Temple, Thom headed straight for his ship. Streamlined, a soft silvery-white, with top-of-the-line sonic engines, it hummed at his approach, and as he strapped in he punched in coordinates for Rok, a city on the other side of the world. It hooked in to the worldwide transportation network, and leaped fluidly into the air and away from the city. In a moment, the sonic engines came online, and Thom was travelling impossibly fast, the speed of reality - the speed of sound. He'd be in Rok in no time - literally.
Introduction: A World of Sound
A futuristic world. A world of flying cities, impossible feats of technology and genetically redesigned humans for whom near-immortality is the way of life. A world without war, without hunger, without poverty, without global warming. And though the people of this world perceive it through with the five ordinary senses, in truth, there is only one sense - for this world is made of sound, and all perceptions come from innumerable strings, constantly vibrating, defining, shaping the world. And so it's a world where sounds have the power to shape reality, where the dropping of a pin could make a spark, or Beethoven's Symphony #9 could raise a mountain.
Humans have learned to direct sounds and to use these strings to shape reality to their will. A mage need not be a musician or an orator - a mage can, with sufficient training, play the strings of reality to change the world. But these strings are not physical (since, technically, nothing is, as it's all sound), and so they are manipulated with small amounts of psychic energy - something every spellcaster (mage, musician or orator) learns to do. And so with the ability to manipulate reality, both from within the design or by changing the design itself, this race has everything it could possibly want or imagine - the world is a Utopia.
Or, close enough, at least. While the environment is perfect, the organization is not, and there's the small issue of space travel. In space, there is no sound - and so in space, there is no reality. The further away from the world you get, the fewer strings of reality there are, and eventually you and your ship just sort of… dissolve. While the government of this world largely goes ignored, space travel is an issue hotly debated, and scientists have long claimed that traversing space is impossible, and pointless - there's nothing out there.
How could there be, when reality is made of sound?
Humans have learned to direct sounds and to use these strings to shape reality to their will. A mage need not be a musician or an orator - a mage can, with sufficient training, play the strings of reality to change the world. But these strings are not physical (since, technically, nothing is, as it's all sound), and so they are manipulated with small amounts of psychic energy - something every spellcaster (mage, musician or orator) learns to do. And so with the ability to manipulate reality, both from within the design or by changing the design itself, this race has everything it could possibly want or imagine - the world is a Utopia.
Or, close enough, at least. While the environment is perfect, the organization is not, and there's the small issue of space travel. In space, there is no sound - and so in space, there is no reality. The further away from the world you get, the fewer strings of reality there are, and eventually you and your ship just sort of… dissolve. While the government of this world largely goes ignored, space travel is an issue hotly debated, and scientists have long claimed that traversing space is impossible, and pointless - there's nothing out there.
How could there be, when reality is made of sound?
Author's Note
This is a world of sound. A world I just designed, so new it hasn't found its name yet, but already an amazing place. Hopefully you'll enjoy the stories you find in it.
Partly inspired by my spatial perception of music synesthesia, partly inspired by my initial response to string theory, partly inspired by my own brain-crack while listening to Evanescence really loud and staring out into space. Partly inspired by J.R.R. Tolkien, by George Lucas, by C.S. Lewis, by Tamora Pierce, by Patricia Wrede, by Christopher Paolini, by Hillary Milton. Partly inspired by Roy Norvell's game Epic'd and by Blizzard Entertainment. And partly inspired by music.
And somehow all the parts fit together to create one glorious chord…
Partly inspired by my spatial perception of music synesthesia, partly inspired by my initial response to string theory, partly inspired by my own brain-crack while listening to Evanescence really loud and staring out into space. Partly inspired by J.R.R. Tolkien, by George Lucas, by C.S. Lewis, by Tamora Pierce, by Patricia Wrede, by Christopher Paolini, by Hillary Milton. Partly inspired by Roy Norvell's game Epic'd and by Blizzard Entertainment. And partly inspired by music.
And somehow all the parts fit together to create one glorious chord…
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